


National Holiday

by Tenors_only_gang



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Gen, Marijuana Use, Nationverse, also references to the coronavirus, basically just some wholesome na bros content, i took the matt is a bastard headcanon and ran with it, it's in honor of 420, just takes place during the quarantine lol, listen im just rly soft for the na bros, no one has corona or anything im not a bad and insensitive person, references to drugs as a coping mechanism but its brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenors_only_gang/pseuds/Tenors_only_gang
Summary: While the World falls into chaos, Alfred and Matthew get high in a remote cabin in Ottawa.
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	National Holiday

At around 4:30 PM at an undisclosed address in rural Ottawa, Matthew sat stir crazy and cross-legged on the couch of an otherwise mostly unfurnished, nondescript cabin. A TV set stood across from him but remained off, as the nation had pretty much bled the Netflix recommendation page dry and couldn’t find himself interested in anything on cable. The air around him was tense yet so unbelievably lethargic––and while this was the pervading mood for much of the past month, somehow he still wasn’t used to it. The lingering smells of baked vanilla and marijuana saturated the air, remnants of failed distractions from the new dullness that characterized his lifestyle. 

Just as he was about to drift off, teetering on the edge of the constant half-asleep state that had become his new normal, an assault on his front door (and eardrums) rang out through the cottage.

_Knock-knock knock-knock-knock!_

Matthew jolted to answer the violent hammering, unlocking the door and flinging it open with enough force to rip it from its hinges. His brother, Alfred, stood in the doorway, and before he could so much as open his mouth to form a greeting, he was pulled into a tight bear hug which he quickly returned with equal fervor.

He knew he’d missed human contact, but he didn’t realize the degree of his touch-starvation until he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. And here Alfred was supposed to be the emotional one.

And as Matt pulled back slightly, not disconnecting the embrace but trying to get a good look at his brother’s face, it was clear he still was, because although Alfred was dry-eyed just seconds before he was now blubbering through his wide smile.

For a moment Matt was thankful for the remoteness of his new living arrangement, because he and his brother would probably look absolutely ridiculous to any onlooker. Not that he much cared––he was pretty sure most others would react similarly in his position.

After what was probably a full minute-long hug, Matt pulled away from his brother so he could grip him by the arm and lead him inside. 

“I have to say this isn’t very social distance-y of you, Al.”

Alfred snorted, tears still caught in his throat, “Well it’s a national holiday, _Matthew_.”

Rather than correct his brother on his use of the word “national,” Matt watched with an almost embarrassed expression as Al wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of the cabin.

“You started without me?”

Matt shook his head. “No, this is from yesterday. And the day before. And uh,” he pursed his lips slightly in thought, “pretty much every day since I got here. So my tolerance is, erm. Yeah.”

Al studied his brother, concerned, and Matt felt judged under the abnormally gentle gaze. “Shit, okay.”

“It’s been a hard month.” Matt shrugged.

Al paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts as he and Matt plopped onto the couch. Just as Matt almost muttered something about the weather, any other stupid conversation topic to cut the quickly-formed silence between them, Al finally piped up again, and Matt silently noted how carefully he was putting his words.

“So I was talking to Ivan the other day––you know how I feel about the guy but y’know, we’re all checking up on each other right now––and he’s not really taking the whole quarantine thing super easy either.”

Matt scoffed upon hearing the word “either,” indignant at being compared to the man Alfred so openly despises. “Just get to the point, Al.”

“Like a week in he started drinking again.”

“Has he ever stopped?”

“Ha-ha.” Despite his lip quirking up slightly, Alfred kept his tone straight. “I mean like he did in the ‘90s. Like, _bad_.”

“Okay, and this is relevant because…?”

“I’m just saying, yaknow? Be careful.”

“If you think France isn’t downing two bottles of wine a night–”

“And I still maintain he’s a functioning alcoholic but okay, continue.”

“–I don’t think anyone’s doing great right now, Al.”

Al threw up his hands in defense, not wanting to press the issue, and snapped his gaze downward. “Okay, gotcha. Just––you get it. When all of this is back to normal, yaknow. Ease up. Okay, okay, with all that in mind,” he smirked mischievously, a glint in his eye, “Let’s get fuckin’ faded!”

That, Matt could get onboard with.

As Matt got to work pressing ground bud into a long cigar wrapper, Al rambled on about the past month and a half. About how much he hated doing business over video-chat and how impersonal it felt, about how much he dreaded his weekly Zoom call with his president, about how he has _no idea_ how Kiku managed to do this _willingly_ for so long. And naturally he complained about the trip over: trying to get access to his private plane while everything was on lockdown, let alone finding a place to land the damn thing, bribing his monitor to let him leave DC––wait, what?

“Al, you did what?”

“Yeah well, yaknow. I had to get outta there somehow.”

Matt’s eyes widened as he giggled in disbelief. “Oh my god, for how much?”

“Uh,” Al shrugged, chuckling too, “an amount.”

“Jesus. ”

“Listen we made these plans months in advance, I’m not gonna blow you off ‘cause of some stupid virus!”

“I mean, you should’ve. You _really_ should’ve. I didn’t even think you were coming, you didn’t text or anything. I would’ve understood if you rescheduled.”

“BS, you can’t reschedule a day of the year.”

“And this is coming from Mr. July fourth himself?”

Al rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I hate you.”

As Matt finished carefully rolling together the blunt, licking the adhesive one last time and passing his lighter over the seam of the paper for good measure, Al groaned impatiently. Matt looked up at him, annoyance etched into his face.

“You want the first hit?”

“Really? Thanks, Matt!” Alfred made a grabby-hand for the blunt, and Matthew smirked as a revelation hit him in real time.

“I’m a gracious host.”

Al put the filter-side to his lips and allowed Matt to light the back end, taking in a deep drag. He separated the roll from his lips suddenly, coughing and sputtering on the smoke. Matt’s smirk deepened. 

“Should I be wearing a mask?” He quipped, knowing well his brother would find it impossible to respond.

Al squinted at his brother, still hacking violently, and shot up his middle finger.

“I knew it was a bad idea to have a guest over in times like these.”

Al swung his arm at Matt, trying to put emphasis on the crude gesture he was making, but quickly stopped in favor of covering his mouth with his hand. Matt tried his hardest not to laugh, maintaining his coy act.

“And now you’re coughing into your hand? Gross. Are you trying to get me infected?”

“Fuck–” more coughing, and Matt couldn’t help the loud snort that bubbled out of him as Al doubled over, “–you.”

“Just give me that, since you have no idea what you’re doing.” Matt snatched the blunt from Al’s hand and took a long hit himself, not even batting an eye at the burning in his throat. After holding onto the breath for a moment he blew the smoke into Al’s face, earning another middle finger.

After about a minute, Al managed to regain his composure. Matt, who’d been nursing the blunt through all of this, passed the object back to Al with a smirk.

“You’re such a dick.” Al took a much smaller hit this time. “No one would believe me if I told them how mean you are.”

Matt’s smile widened at this, as if he were receiving a glowing compliment. “I bet everyone would believe me if I told them what a baby you’re being right now.”

“Uh, _excuse me_ for not going through a pack of pre-rolls in a day.”

“You’re excused. Do better next time.”

Pleased with both the snort and the light smack on the shoulder he’d received in response, Matt leaned into his brother’s side.

They’d been passing the blunt back and forth for what was probably ten minutes, although the exact measurement started to haze over in Matt’s mind. Even with his ridiculous tolerance he could never find himself completely immune to the time-warping qualities of the drug.

The brothers had abandoned the couch, now merely using it as a backrest while they sprawled themselves out on the carpeted floor.

“Mattie,” Al babbled, his voice harshly affected by the smoke in his lungs, “Mattie d’you remember Woodstock?”

“Oh my god, how could I forget. You took like five tabs of acid and hooked up with that guy from The Who.”

Al laughed way too hard at this memory. “‘60’s were a time.”

“Yeah, I think I still have the pictures from when you tried to grow your hair out.”

“Ewww. Throw ‘em out.”

“No no, I’m gonna hang them up. Precious memories.”

“Ugh, but I looked like you _now_.” Al scruntched up his nose in genuine disgust, batting his hand around in Matt’s general direction. “With your hair all, yaknow.”

Matt scoffed. “I can’t believe you. In my own home.”

“Die mad, Mattie.”

Matt flipped his brother off and, while Al took another slow drag off of the blunt, produced a wax pen from his hoodie pocket. Just as he put it to his lips, Al blew a cloud of smoke in his face.

“Dude, ‘s that a vape?”

Matt snorted. “I know you haven’t done this in a couple years, but have you seriously never used a wax pen before?”

Al shrugged in response. A couple of seconds later, seemingly having forgotten the question, he once again batted at his brother. “Can I try?”

Matt shrugged, taking a hit and then holding it away from his face. “It’s really strong. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, pleeease.”

Matt feigned pondering the question for a few seconds before passing over the device. “Fine, I _guess_. Oh, just try not to take too long of a hit, it–”

Al was already doubled over, coughing once again before Matt could finish his sentence.

“–Hits really hard. Dumbass.”

As Al’s coughing quieted, the nation falling into rare silence and taking a much smaller breath from the pen, Matt studied his brother’s face. The freckles that lined the bridge of his nose and splattered across his cheeks, once probably his most prominent feature, now subdued to smudged glasses concealing unnatural redness and deep bags that carved themselves beneath his eyes. The bright blue of his irises––one of his few distinctive features against Matt’s violet, with the two alike in nearly every other regard––dulled with the exhaustion that the state of the world clearly brought him. 

Despite identical features, almost every aspect of their demeanors was dissimilar. Complementary. Almost always standing beside one another, Al’s blinding smile against Matt’s much more reserved, bright eyes filled with ambition against those softened with rehearsed politeness. Al’s boundless optimism against Matt’s quiet pragmatism. Emotions bubbled out of Alfred with deep intensity, heart always on his sleeve. Matt prefered to keep his cards tucked close to his chest, restricted only to those who cared enough to know him. They fit each other like pieces of a puzzle, have since they were kids.

Separation didn't suit either of them.

“I miss this.” Matt muttered, meeting Al’s hazy gaze.

“I missed this too, man!”

“No, I don’t mean––obviously I missed you––I mean I miss _this_. I miss people. When they moved me from Quebec to Ottawa,” Matt paused, hearing Al snicker at his Quebecois pronunciation of the formerly mentioned city before continuing, “I really thought I’d get to help my people. Volunteer or something, I don’t know. But when I got here they just kept me on an even tighter leash. They said something about not knowing what would happen to my land or my citizens if I were to get sick. I guess I get it, but... You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in person besides my handler in about a month.”

Al snorted hard, breaking off into a fit of giggles, and Matt looked at him quizzically. After a good twenty seconds of incoherence, Al wiped a tear from his eye, and between chuckles, muttered “aboot.”

Matt rolled his eyes, although he couldn't help but giggle himself. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough.”

Matt reached to pull the blunt and pen from Al’s hands, which Al whined at but was otherwise too uncoordinated to stop.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back.” Matt said, walking towards his kitchen. Another idea hit him as he pressed the smoking end of the roll into an ashtray.

When he emerged from the kitchen he held two bowls of vanilla ice cream in either hand, each saturated with disgusting amounts of maple syrup and broken up ritz crackers.

He took his seat beside Al once again, who was now slumped against the couch, half-asleep. He handed him a bowl and spoon, which Al blinked at blearily a couple of times before registering its contents. Matt smiled as his brother’s face lit up.

“Oh man, Mattie you’re the best.” Al’s voice was barely comprehensible, just above a whisper and under-enunciated.

“I know.”

They ate in comfortable silence. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, and as the sky changed from violet to murky blue Matt felt his own eyes start to grow heavy. He’d spent much of his self-solation (or more accurately, heavily monitored government-enforced isolation) like this, on the floor of his living room with clouds of smoke permeating the air as he drifted off. There was something deeply depressing about smoking alone as a form of therapy, that he could bitterly admit.

Tomorrow Al would probably have to haul ass back to DC first thing in the morning. Matt would send him off with the remainder of the blunt and another much-too-long hug.

Matt would be left alone again.

Right now however, they were here together. As the world fell apart outside of the cabin they could pretend for an evening that everything was okay. That is, after all, what nations do best.

“Mattie?”

“Hm?” Matt looked up from his melting bowl of ice cream.

“I love ya man.”

“I know.” he said, chuckling lightly at the pouty expression Al shot him. 

Another brief lapse of silence. 

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> it has literally been YEARS since i've written hetalia fanfic and this was literally just an excuse to imagine al getting blazed out of his mind while also fulfilling my matt stoner headcanon because the world needs more stoner headcanons
> 
> also I love the na bros just. SO much. i dont even care that this is gonna get two hits bc its gen, the lack of na bros content on this website is criminal
> 
> that being said pls tell me if you enjoyed bc im thirsty and love attention! :^)


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